


who's the new guy?

by anomalousity



Series: you took the words right out of my mouth [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Bucky never went to war, and Steve bought flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky’s been staring at the new kid for the better part of two hours.

He’s a puny thing, probably just less than five feet tall and barely pulling up past eighty pounds. Bucky’s surprised he hasn’t blown over in the weak breeze, threadlike legs somehow holding strong despite his small girth.

The kid brushes his fingers through his hair, blue eyes looking sad like all the new arrivals. His lips are twisted in something weakly resembling a smile though as Sister May asks him the usual questions. He’s been straining his ears to hear the soft tenor of the kid’s voice. Thirteen, probably. Maybe fourteen.

“Mustard gas, ma’am,” he replies to Sister’s question about his parents. “My mother caught pneumonia last winter. She, uh, didn’t make it.”

Sister May nods and jots down the information into her little notebook. Bucky remembers when he got the typical roundabout to make sure he wasn’t some runaway. Bucky also remembers bawling when she even started to ask him questions about what happened to his parents. Of course, Bucky was seven but still. This kid’s tough.

“Well, Steve,” she says a few moments later. “We’re a little crowded, but if you’d like there’s room for a cot beside James or Alfred.”

At mention of his name, Bucky’s back stiffens. It’s not that he minds sharing his corner because he really doesn’t; he would love to get to know the new guy. New friends are always easy to come by in the orphanage.

“Only if it’s okay with them,” Steve replies. His compact shoulders are set in defiance, what Bucky can see of his jaw tilted upwards. He can see Sister May’s nod before she turns on her heel with a clipped, “Follow me,” and he barely catches the new kid’s face before a sharp knee pokes into his back.

“Fuck!” He turns to glare daggers at his assailant. “Jeez, Hank, don’t do that.”

Hank merely shrugs before jabbing his thumb towards the retreating backs of Sister and Steve. Bucky follows the gesture before turning his focus back onto Hank, a question lurking low in his eyes. Hank sighs before scrubbing his palm down his face. “How long you think he’ll last?”

Bucky shrugs; Hank had told him that people thought he’d last two, maybe three years when he first got here. He’s pushing on nine now. “It don’t matter,” he replies. “He’ll stay as long as he can.”

Hank frowns before sighing and ducking away. “Don’t get your hopes up, Barnes.”

He doesn’t even try to decipher that warning before he climbs out of the little nook under the orderly quarters. The sun streaks hot across his back as soon as he pushes out of his crouch, his shoulder blades already twitching from the welcomed warmth. He unbuttons his shirt as he strides towards his bed, rakes his fingers through his hair before stopping altogether.

Steve is wiggling on his bed, skinny body nervously fidgeting around as Sister May smiles and nods. Bucky feels his mouth go dry at the sight of it, and then, after what feels like hours, a bony finger prods at his chest.

“James?” Sister May asks, craning her neck to look up at him.

“Uh,” Bucky replies intelligently. “What?”

She sighs before rolling her eyes. “Steve Rogers will be sharing your corner,” she pauses to gesture towards the skinny frame he’s all too aware of. “And, until we can find a cot, your bed. Please be a dear and be nice.”

It’s all Bucky can do to nod, and she seems satisfied enough with that as she steels herself and walks away. Bucky forces life back into his limbs before slowly walking towards his bed. When he stops at the foot, he lets his gaze slide over his guest.

What he sees surprises him. Steve has a sketch pad strewn between his legs, his hand furiously arching a pencil over the page. For a moment, Bucky can’t pull his eyes from his hand, so deftly and precisely drawing life where there was only blankness. It’s beautiful, deserving of poetry Bucky couldn’t write if he tried a few hundred years.

Still, he lets his eyes trail from his hands up sinewy arms. They broaden slightly at the top, just barely hinting at impending adulthood before they slope back in to a thin neck. Bucky swallows when his gaze rakes over dark stubble just barely making an appearance. Not thirteen or fourteen; sixteen or seventeen.

He almost pauses at the age. Steve has at least a year on him, and he’s probably one of those smart assholes that attended private schools and went to church and dotted his I's before his folks keeled over. Given the way he can etch out lines like some Sunday comic artist, Bucky’s betting he’s not far off mark.

Clearing his throat, Bucky settles in beside him on the small bed. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him but he doesn’t look over. Instead, he bores holes into his hands and sighs.

“I’ll take the window, if you don’t want it.”

He hears Steve shift on the bed before he settles. “Okay,” he replies.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else; instead, he dozes off. It’s nice enough that the sunlight warms the orphanage, but not so hot that Bucky’s shirt clings uncomfortably. He settles a hand over his stomach and tilts his head against the pillow, letting fantasy claim his consciousness. At least until a bony knee knocks against his hip.

“Hey,” Steve says. When Bucky doesn’t reply, thin fingers poke at his thigh. “James, wake up.”

Bucky opens his eyes to clear blue ones. Steve’s brows are knit high atop his head, lips parted in a curious grimace. His cheeks are slightly flushed; Bucky notices none too subtly and a blush of his own blooms on the apples of his cheeks. He pushes backwards until Steve takes the hint, blushes redder, and smiles sheepishly.

“U-uh,” he says before swallowing. “Sister May said to wake you before supper.”

“It’s Bucky,” Bucky says instead of answering him. Steve tilts his head so Bucky elaborates. “Call me Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes widen slightly but otherwise he remains unchanged. “Right, well Sister May said to wake you up in time for supper and people are eating so I thought…”

Bucky sighs and pushes himself to his elbows, ignoring the way his leg settles in against Steve’s. He doesn’t mind that he’s going to be sharing a bed with the new kid; hell, he probably likes it a little too much. Nonetheless, he shouldn’t be getting handsy right off the bat. Or at any time really.

He rolls his neck and arches his shoulders, sighing contentedly when a few choice joints pop and relief floods throughout his body. After stretching his hands out in front of him, he pushes to his feet and turns to Steve. He holds out a hand in offering, heaves Steve up when he takes it.

“Well,” he says. “Let’s go eat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve go dancing.

The new guy hardly speaks, but Bucky’s learned enough.

For instance, Steve Rogers is enrolled to begin art school as soon as he turns eighteen. He’s almost seventeen; his birthday is on Independence Day and Bucky is already planning on taking him to see the fireworks. He’s an army brat; his dad died on foreign soil and his ma was a nurse in Italy. Bucky’s also learned that he’s proud of his parents’ history and of his being an American. He tells him he wants to enlist once he finishes his studies.

Bucky doesn’t understand the appeal of the military, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell the kid that he’s all but a liability what with his scrawny arms and, well, everything. He’s mouthy, and he’s managed to piss off nine of the older guys and at least three of the bigger guys in his astounding two days at the orphanage.

Not that Bucky doesn’t think he’s great, of course, because he _is_. He’s the best thing Bucky’s seen in years, right down to the ridiculously endearing smirk when Bucky compliments his drawings. He’s snide in the best of ways and stubborn in the worst. He makes up for his puny physique with a quick wit and an armory of insults at his disposal.

Also, he’s a damn cheat at cards.

“You punk,” Bucky growls, tossing his hand in the fucker’s face. “You’ve been counting.”

Steve is the picture of mock innocence when he glances up, big blue eyes wide as he gasps at Bucky. “I’d never do such a thing,” he replies a little too sweetly. That is _definitely_ a smirk Bucky sees lurking in his chin.

“Yeah, right. Teach me how to do that.” And that’s how Bucky learns to count cards.

They take to each other surprisingly quickly. After Steve’s first week, Bucky hears the sisters referring to them as the Barnes Brothers more often than not, and while it sends something warm spreading low in his gut, Bucky knows it’s probably going to come back and bite him in the ass. Steve’s soft smiles only serve to drive away that thought, however, and he finds himself spending even more time with him than he was before.

Like this morning, for instance.

He woke up with a kink in his back, probably caused by the knobby knee driving against it with feral determination. There’s a storm brewing, but it won’t rain for at least a few hours. Bucky blinks against the stark lighting and rolls over until he’s faced with an armful of sleepy artist. Steve stares back at him blearily, a small smile splayed over his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, puffs of soft breath brushing over Bucky’s lips.

He grins in response. “Mornin’.”

It should be weird how they lay like that for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes like poor saps from those ‘diaries’ Sister May keeps locked up in her office. It should be terrifying that someone might notice, but Bucky has an arsenal of excuses to use should he be caught staring at Steve’s hands or lips or eyes or, God forbid, his bony ass for too long.

Instead of dwelling on what it should be, Bucky stares into clear eyes and grins like some jerk without a care in the world.

“What are we doing later?” Steve asks, knowing full well that Bucky had plans for the pair of them. Thin fingers knot in Bucky’s shirt as Steve lets his curiosity manifest in the physical. “Please tell me we’re not on cleaning duty.”

“We’re not on cleaning duty,” Bucky replies with a smirk. He slides his hand over Steve’s wrist before unfurling his fingers from his shirt. He pushes himself to his elbows, barely concealing a groan when a few more vertebrae pop back into place. Steve slides up beside him, folding his legs and setting his hands in the little hollow formed by them.

Bucky sighs and looks back over at him. “What?”

“Well?” Steve asks, a note of annoyance creeping into his tone.

Fine, Bucky’ll make it annoying. “Well, what?”

Steve sighs and punches Bucky’s shoulder. “Don’t be a jerk. What are we doing?” His hand smoothes over the rumples in his shirt before sliding back to his side. “And don’t give me that ‘you’ll see’ bullshit.”

“I don’t ever bullshit, I merely have an appreciation for theatrics.” Bucky grins and runs his hands through his hair. There is a pair of slacks resting on the footboard; whether they’re his or Steve’s he doesn’t know, but he goes to work pushing off his pajamas and grabs them anyways. Thankfully, they’re only a little snug. “We’re going to Manhattan.”

He’s pulling his shirt over his head when he hears Steve ask, “Manhattan?”

“Yeah, Manhattan.” He scours the floor for a shirt, grimacing when he finds Steve’s loose white button-ups. It’s better than nothing, though, so Bucky tucks himself into the shirt, leaving it open. “We’re going to go dancing.”

He arranges a tie under the collar before fastening the buttons closed. When he catches Steve still in his sleep clothes, he groans. “Stevie, you’ve got to clean up a bit if you want to impress a girl.”

At that, Steve’s brows knit together in confusion. “Why am I impressing a girl?” He sounds completely confused, as though the mere suggestion of impressing a girl has never occurred to him. Bucky almost laughs; Steve hardly has to work to impress anyone, especially with those big eyes and that bright smile. It’s a miracle none of the girls from the block even came onto him.

Bucky decides honesty is best. “Because girls will love you,” he says. He brushes his hair into something resembling togetherness before smiling. “So get dressed and let yourself at ‘em, Rogers.”

And that’s how they find themselves on the direct line to Manhattan.

Steve’s quiet the whole way there, his features arranged into something resembling firm consternation as he fiddles with his fingers. Bucky has an arm slung over his shoulders, whistling tunes he heard streaming from the radio at the orphanage. It’s only when the train slows that Steve nudges his ribs.

Bucky turns to him and catches nervousness painted raw over his face. “What’s the matter?” he asks, dropping his hand from the seat to rub circles into Steve’s shoulder.

He shakes his head before leaning into the touch. “I just,” he starts, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I’m not good with these sorts of things.”

“Like dancing?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I don’t know how.”

He rests against Bucky’s arm, sighing into the seat as he glares at his knees. Bucky didn’t really know either, at least not until a year ago when he convinced Sister Carol to teach him how to dance and then, how to kiss. Unfortunately, Sister May caught them and sent Carol away and grounded Bucky for the better part of a year.

Bucky smiles and turns to Steve. “You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” He rubs his fingers over Steve’s neck before letting his arm drop to his side.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them says anything after that, though Steve does rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. They arrive at their stop, climb out, and make their way to the bar by Myrtle’s wedding shop. Already music is filling the block, and Bucky inhales as the warm rhythm bleeds into his bones.

Evidently, it’s having the opposite effect on Steve. “Is this it?” he asks, voice low and sharp. Bucky peers over to find him with his hands fisted in his pockets, lower lip caught below his teeth as his eyes flit from the ground to Bucky to the club and back to the ground again.

“Doin’ okay?” Bucky asks, knocking his hip against Steve’s.

He doesn’t answer right away; instead he gulps something down and nods. Bucky waits only a moment before grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him towards the club, ignoring the odd bubbling sensation in his gut as he Steve clings to his hand tighter and tighter with each step.

The first thing he notices is the bottles; luxurious bottles of booze are strung up to the ceiling, candles burning within them and giving the joint some mystic air that Bucky supposes is effective. He runs his fingers through his hair as he surveys the crowd, looking for a tiny little thing for Steve to go home with.

His eyes land on a brunette, maybe just shy of five feet and probably eighty pounds soaking wet. She’s demure, dressed in a soft pink frilly thing that only points out how knobby and thin she is.

He smiles at how perfect she is.

Steve elbows his gut when he catches his gaze. “What’re you lookin’ at, punk?” Bucky turns to catch something like jealousy swimming in Steve’s eyes, but it’s gone so quickly he’s pretty sure he imagined it. He wants to ask, but he holds his tongue. He turns his gaze back to the small brunette.

“See her?” Bucky says instead of asking.

He waits until Steve nods to interweave their fingers and tug him in the direction of the dance floor. She’s alone, slowly swaying to the jazz notes emanating from the band. Jesus, the closer he gets, the wider Bucky’s smile grows. Wide light blue eyes, puffy red lips, a dimpled chin; Steve would have to try not to like her.

Steve lets go of his hand once they get close, but Bucky just keeps on going. The girl looks up at him with something like surprised when he clears his throat, but it dissipates into a curious smirk when she catches his eyes.

“Angling for a dance, handsome?” she asks, voice heavy with a Brooklyn accent.

Bucky smirks right back and jabs his thumb in Steve’s direction. “Not for me,” he says. “But I know a guy who might be.”

She looks over his shoulder, arching on the tops of her toes to get a better look at Steve. She nods her satisfaction before shifting her gaze back up to Bucky. “He’s small,” she says, nothing betraying in her tone.

“Damn right.”

“If I step on him he might break something.”

Bucky laughs. “He’s a lot tougher than he looks, sweetie.” He pushes his hair from his eyes before fixating her with what he hopes comes off as a serious look. “But would’ya be interested?”

Her eyes dart from his face to Steve’s skinny body behind him and back again as she worries her lip between her teeth. After a beat, she sucks in a breath and nods. “All right.” Bucky’s chest constricts as he tries to hold in a grin. It doesn’t work. “But only if you tell me his name.”

“Steve,” Bucky replies.

She hums before stuffing her hands in her pockets. “And you’re…?”

He grins and ducks his head before shaking it. “It don’t matter, but Bucky’s just fine.” It’s not usually how he introduces himself to women; ‘James’ is a better hit when he’s angling for a kiss, but he’s not right now. There’s nothing particularly alluring about her faded, intelligent eyes scrutinizing before she breaks into a laugh.

“Oh my God,” she replies. “You really like him, don’t you?”

She looks up and down his frame before her lips split into a wide grin and she claps his shoulder with a light hand. He must look tense because she tells him that her brother’s got an unusual taste and it seems like he does to.

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it don’t mean nothing so don’t go around tellin’ anybody, yeah?” Bucky knows he’s tall for his age, knows he can pull of glares and smirks just the same for intimidation. They don’t work for shit on this girl, though, which only broadens his grin.

So he holds up a finger turning on his heel and all but dragging Steve across the room, squeezing his shoulders before breathing, “She wants a dance, kid, but don’t try anything funny.”

“You _wish_ I’d try anything,” Steve bites back, but his eyes are shining.

Bucky just laughs before patting his ass and making his way back to the bar. They’re awkward, grappling each other until they’ve worked out each other’s grooves and prominent hollows. Steve ain’t half bad, though he’s a little stiff on the uptake. The girl’s curls bounce as she spins them in slow circles, her blush obvious even from all the way across the room when she arches up to kiss Steve’s cheek.

He spins back around on the stool, pushing his elbows onto the grimy bar and waving over the bartender. He’s downed three shots by the time he realizes exactly what the girl was saying about her brother having an ‘unusual taste’, like him. It takes another beer for him to figure that he’d admitted to something he shouldn’t have admitted to a perfect stranger, and that she hadn’t batted an eye.

And it took him another swig of vodka for him to smile back at the guy squeezing his knee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds an apartment.

The sound of snoring and the weight of a meaty arm flung over his hips wake Bucky up.

Bucky blinks awake, trying and failing to connect the face in front of him with a name. The man has long eyelashes and plump pink lips, looking something of a dream his thirteen year old self would appreciate more than he does now.

Carefully, he prods at the arm until it falls from his waist before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan. His ass hurts something awful, his legs are hardly any better. He stretches his limbs far in front of him before letting them drop and examining his surroundings for any familiarity.

He’s not in Brooklyn, that’s for sure. There’s the tang of sea brine even in the air of the apartment. The walls are painted a pretty light blue, golden crown molding framing the ceiling. Clothes decorate the floor haphazardly, his clothes standing out because they’re the only ones that look to be completely untailored.

So, Manhattan still. He looks over his shoulder at the guy snoozing away. Ricky, maybe? Jimmy? Something with a –y sound, Bucky knows that much. He pushes himself out of the bed, fully intent to grab his clothes when he spots Steve’s pocket watch.

Had Steve gotten home all right?

He’s diving to the floor for his clothes when a muffled groan stops him in his tracks. “Barnes?” He glances over his shoulder and finds the guy staring at him bleary eyed, his lips curled in a small smile as he pats the vacated half of his bed. “Why don’t you get back into bed?”

“Can’t,” Bucky replies, pushing one leg after the other into his slacks and heaving them up his hips. “Got to find my friend.”

The guy, and Bucky should really figure out this man’s name before he leaves, just grimaces at him before kicking the sheets down to the foot of the bed and pushing himself up. Even from the floor, Bucky can see his woody, can see the raised eyebrows and the barely reigned in expectation.

Jesus, he probably dropped trou and parted cheeks for this asshole.

“Do you have even a little time?” he asks. Mickey, that’s it. Mickey’s lips are all but pursed and he looks like he’s about to start consoling Bucky about previous commitment or some shit. Bucky doesn’t give him the opportunity, instead smirking and pushing himself to his feet.

“Not even a little,” he says. He fastens the last button of Steve’s shirt before ducking down and pressing a kiss to the corner of Mickey’s mouth. “Maybe next time,” he adds, knowing that there isn’t going to be a next time.

The guy’s eyes follow him as he makes a hasty retreat, all but tearing the door open before he’s sprinting down flights of stairs in a bleary rush. The air is fresh on this side of New York, less muck obscures the perfect dream rich folks live. Bucky barely holds in a sneer when two dapper women dressed to the nines with a little dog traipse past him, barely sparing him a glance.

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket as he makes his way back to the train station. It’s probably a twenty minute ride back to Brooklyn, maybe more at this time of day, but it’s not like running is any faster.

The man at the till gives him a once over before waving him aboard.

“What?” Bucky asks, giving the man his best glare.

It seems to work, “Nothing,” he replies.

Bucky tugs on his collar before climbing into the car, trying his best to fit in but knowing he sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s barren for nine, hardly as many urchins lurking in the bowels of the city as Bucky had expected. He takes a seat towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hoping no one gets too curious.

Steve should be home by now, resting quiet on their bed. Maybe he’ll have even remembered to eat before going to sleep, wash up too. Last week he’d had to drag him into a bucket himself and scrub him up because the bastard had refused to wash after being told grungy was a good look on him.

That’s what Bucky gets for letting him around the girls’ house across the block.

He slaps his hands against his knees, grinning when the old woman seated beside him glares at the noise. Bucky’s always loved the trains, loved watching the people that fold their legs and pretend to be normal when they’re packing at least three pistols, going by the lumps in their slacks. He likes the frail old nuns that stop in and gossip like the dames down at the docks.

Maybe he just likes being reassured that he’s not the only piece of shit in the city.

Three more blocks and he’s climbing out of his seat, making sure to shoot the old woman a smirk before breezing out of the doors. He shoves a nickel towards the teller and sprints onto the teeming sidewalk, uncaring of the people he’s nudging out of his way. If Steve’s not home, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

“Hey!” Bucky spins on his heel to catch Ms. McDonough storming down the street, a flier clutched in a hand.

He runs his fingers through his hair before making his way towards her. “Yeah, ma’am?” he asks, aware that she’s going to have his balls for his lack of manners.

She doesn’t seem to notice, however, and pushes the flier against his chest. Her eyes shift to the empty space beside him before she frowns. “You and Steve lookin’ for a place to stay?” she says, crossing her arms.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you take Momma’s apartment?”

Bucky takes a step back. “Huh?” She looks completely serious, no hint of humor or teasing on her face. “You’re serious?”

She nods. “As a heart attack.”

“Mag, we can’t afford it,” he replies. Mrs. McDonough lives in the better part of town, where no one brings a .50 cal into a grocery store just because they can. Hell, it’s written all over Ms. McDonough; her wealth stands out in her pearl necklace and carefully arranged curls. People with money have the time to take liberties with their appearances. Besides her, Bucky probably looks like he’s just gotten out of Harvey’s Auto Shop, though he is cleaned up by his and Steve’s standards.

She pats his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. “It’s already paid off, sweetheart,” she says, moving her hand up to scrub at the day old stubble on his cheek. “You’ll just have to pay for utilities and whatever Ma wants for it.”

Bucky knows Steve would jump at the offer; hell, he’d probably have already bought the damn apartment. He runs his fingers through his hair, not really caring if it just messes it up even more than it already is. “Fine,” he says.

“Really?”

He kicks the gravel and rubs at his neck. “Yeah, really. I’ve got to run and tell Steve, but yeah, we’ll stop by later, yeah?” Jesus, they hardly have pennies to their names. If Bucky can manage to do rounds for Donny at the club again, maybe they can scrape enough together. But there’s still food to worry about and making sure Steve gets his meds.

Bucky musters a smile before nodding. “Well, see you,” he says, turning around and starting off towards the orphanage.

He slumps his way home, not wanting to bear potentially meaningless news to his best friend. Still, maybe it’ll make Steve smile knowing that they can move on to bigger and… different things. Hell, maybe they can build Steve his own little studio by a window, instead of the shitty arrangement they’ve got back at the boys’ home.

Bucky pushes through the door, unsurprised to be greeted by squeaking voices screeching out something unintelligible. It’s only when he pushes through the mess of children that he finds the source of the excitement.

“Fuck off,” Steve growls, pushing limp strands of blond from his face.

There’s one of the bigger kids standing above him, a mean snarl on his lips as he glares down at Steve’s skinny frame. “Buyin’ shit for your boyfriend now, too?” he asks, grinning when his goons giggle behind him.

Bucky pushes a kid out of his way and sprints towards the bigger guy when he’s pulling his arm back. He gets Steve away just in time to receive a nasty punch to the jaw. The sting doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought it would, but one of his teeth is loose and he can feel blood welling in his cheek and a small hand clawing at his back.

“Bucky!” Steve is pulling him back, pulling him out of the path of another punch and… fuck, Bucky reaches out to grab Steve’s body as it collapses, earning a laugh out of the asshole. Hopefully one of the Sisters is on their way down, maybe they’ll scare this dick away before he can do any real damage.

He heaves Steve behind him, caring that he lands on something soft before he jumps back up, fists clenched and aiming for the asshole’s eyes. He lands a couple lucky shots before the guy’s meaty fist smashes into his ribs, and something cracks at the blow. The ground hurts when he lands on his hands and knees, chest rattling like Steve’s in the middle of winter. There’s blood dripping from his lips, but it’s just from a crack on his lip.

Bucky tries to push himself off the ground, but when a foot knocks into his gut he sees stars and collapses belly first onto the floor. “Fuck,” he hisses, trying to breath without air in his lungs. Who the hell gave fourteen year olds permission to be so fucking huge? He pushes up to his arms, choking out a laugh and trying for mockery when he says, “Do you kick hard ‘cause you ain’t so big in your private place?”

Steve’s yelling his name, but when another kick comes he can’t bring himself to be shocked. He keeps on laughing, even when Sister May pulls the hulking asshole off of Bucky’s body, when Steve falls to his side and starts dabbing at his face with the tail of his shirt.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve breathes as he moves down Bucky’s body and unbuttons his shirt. “Who the hell messes with someone twice their size when they’re already lying bloody on the floor?”

Bucky grins up at him. “You.”

Steve glares down at him for a good minute before his chin wobbles, and Bucky’s laughing with him. Sister May is probably going to be back soon to clean him up, but Bucky doesn’t care when he fists his fingers in Steve’s shirt and drags him down until his face is centimeters above Bucky’s.

“Hey Steve,” he says.

“Yeah?”

He has to cough before he can continue. Steve looks ready to haul him off to the infirmary, despite the fact that he couldn’t carry Bucky anywhere without another person doing most of the carrying. He has to force composure before he grins, and licks his lips.

“I got us an apartment.”


End file.
